Room Service

by Jill Shalvis

  “Stop.”

  He went still, then slowly lifted his head, blinking those sleepy, sexy-lidded eyes at her.

  “We can’t,” she said. “Not here.”

  He blew out a careful breath, looking hot, and just a little bothered.

  “There are probably cameras…” Feeling silly, she trailed off. After stepping clear, she smoothed down her clothes, staring ridiculously primly at the closed doors, which slowly began to open. She exited quickly, then whirled back to face him, only he’d followed her off and she plowed right into him. “It’s just that I never got to tell you. And you…”

  “What?” he asked, his hands coming up to her arms.

  God, it would sound so wrong now. She’d waited too long. Whirling again, she headed toward her room, fumbling through her purse to find her room card. He took it from her fingers and opened her door, waiting for her to go inside before following her.

  The beachy elegance of the room cut through some of her tension, which came back full force when she caught sight of her reflection in the wide seashell mirror over the dresser.

  Her hair, wavy on the best of days, had rioted, curling around her flushed face. Her eyes seemed huge and misty, dreamy, and her lips—still wet from his kiss—were full and puffy. Her sweater had a wet spot over one breast, and her nipples pressed against the material. She looked as though she’d just been thoroughly ravaged, which of course she had.

  Jacob came up behind her and ran his hands up her arms. “Look at you.”

  She was looking. She couldn’t look away. She blinked, but the same image presented back to her: one Emmaline Harris, rumpled and tousled, and smiling. No, that wasn’t right. No smiling. Not until she told him. She swiped the ridiculous grin from her face. “Jacob.”

  “Uh-huh.” His mouth was skimming her neck again, and the reflection of his dark head bent to her, eyes closed. Those long dark lashes against his cheeks, his tongue touching her flesh, made her shiver.

  “Jacob,” she said again, stronger this time, and turned to face him.

  But Jacob Hill in the flesh was even more compelling than his mirror image had been. His eyes were very hot, and his mouth curved in a little knowing smile that said I can make you come in less than three minutes.

  Given how close to that orgasm she actually felt, he could probably do it in three seconds. She took a big gulp of air.

  His eyes cut to her bed, freshly made by housekeeping, with what appeared to be a small basket in the middle of the mattress.

  With compliments from Sous-Chef Hill the note read, and she looked at him. “You sent this to me?”

  “It’s the makings for s’mores. You’ll love them.”

  She had to laugh. “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

  He frowned, thinking. “Sure.”

  “When?”

  “Well…” He strode closer, tracing a finger along her hairline. “Now, for instance. Because somehow I know you aren’t going to invite me onto that mattress with you.”

  “No.” Her voice was far weaker than she would have liked. “No,” she repeated. “I’m not. Jacob…” God, this was harder now that she’d touched him, kissed him. Now that she knew him. So much harder. “I’ve told you I’m a TV producer.”

  “Yes.”

  “What you don’t know is that I have one month to get my show off the ground or I’m fired.”

  “Some reality show, right?”

  “Yes.” She’d never wanted to say anything less than what she had to say now. “A cooking show.”

  A little furrow appeared between his eyes as he digested her words. “As in a chef in front of a camera whipping up cookies kind of cooking show?”

  “I was thinking something a little more interesting than that.” Nerves fluttered in her belly. She’d wanted to recruit him, but now she just wanted him.

  “Like what exactly?” His voice had cooled, the drawl thickened. He was irritated, with good reason.

  “Well…”

  “Should I guess, Em?” His eyes grew icy, too. “You heard about Amuse Bouche, and the success we’ve had.”

  “Actually, I heard about you.”

  “And you thought I’d, what? Drop everything and coming running to Hollywood to smile for a camera on some cable show? Did you really?”

  “It’s a prime-time show, on a major network.” She offered him a weak smile, which faded when he just looked at her. “I’m doing this all wrong,” she said quickly. “I meant to woo you, to make it sound really appealing and interesting, which it should be. It’s TV, Jacob. A show of your own. Your input would be welcome, of course, and—”

  “My input would be welcome,” he repeated slowly, then shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Hollywood and cook in front of a camera like…like a caged animal.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “Jesus,” he breathed, backing up a step, shaking his head. “You’re serious. You’re completely serious.”

  “Jacob—”

  “Wow.” He prided himself on his street smarts, on his worldliness, on the fact that he was sharp enough never to be taken. But this sweet, beautiful woman had walked right through his defenses with one kiss.

  He was saved from having to admit that by a knock on the room door.

  “Em?” came a female voice. “Open up.”

  Em jumped, then whipped around and stared at herself in the mirror. “Oh, boy.” She stroked a hand down her sweater and shot Jacob an indecipherable look. “That’s Liza, my assistant, and also close friend.” She looked good and flustered, and distractedly shoved at her bangs.

  Jacob felt his body stir just looking at her, and had to back up another step. No. She’d pissed him off, so no more thinking about her that way.

  “I know this is crazy,” she whispered, putting her hands on his chest. “But please, give me a chance to explain everything to you.”

  No need. That first kiss in the elevator had been his own doing, an amusing coincidence he could see now, fate playing a joke on the both of them. But she’d had plenty of opportunities between then and now to explain her business here. That he, in fact, was her business here.

  But she hadn’t.

  The thing was, he didn’t blame her. He knew desperation, and he recognized it well, so the thing to do here, the only thing to do here, was cut his losses and get over it, and over her.

  Liza knocked again, louder now. “Emmaline!”

  “Give me a minute,” Em called to the door.

  “Why?” Liza demanded. “Are you having wild monkey sex in there with the hot stud-muffin chef?”

  Jacob choked back a laugh.

  Unbelievably, Em glared at him, as if this was his fault, and scrubbed a hand down her face.

  “Em, come on, I’m standing out here in my slut outfit,” Liza said urgently through the door. “I tried it on and I want you to see if it’s good enough to drive Eric out of his mind with crazed jealousy. I’m going to drag him to Exhibit A tonight, the basement bar where there’s nude dancing. People supposedly do it in the booths, can you believe it? Now I need you to take a look at me and make sure I’m not too over the top, so open up.”

  “Oh, my God—” Looking as if she’d hit the boiling point, Em broke off, moved to the door and hauled it open.

  Liza stood there in a canary-yellow micromini, cut nearly up to her crotch. A matching crop top, do-me lipstick and go-go boots designed to stop brain cells in their tracks completed the look.

  “Oh, my God,” Em repeated, looking her friend and assistant up and down. “Did you look in the mirror after you put that horror on?”

  Liza opened her mouth, but then at the sight of Em looking the way she did—as if she’d just had that “wild monkey sex” Liza had mentioned—she shut her mouth again. “I don’t think the subject here should be my outfit,” Liza finally said.

  “It’s not what you think,” Em said.

  “Really?” Liza moved into the room, nodded to Jacob
and then looked back at Em. “Because what I’m thinking is that you just got thoroughly laid. So does this mean you’re in?” she asked Jacob.

  “In?”

  “Are you going to do the show and save Em’s ass, cute as it may be?”

  Jacob looked at Em.

  Em sighed. “We were in the early talks.”

  “Yes, well, talks are officially over.” Jacob moved toward the door, where he made the mistake of brushing past Em. He stopped.

  She tipped her head up and stared at him with regret and embarrassment, and lingering arousal. Lifting a finger, he stroked it over her jaw—God, he loved her skin. “’Bye, Em.”

  “Jacob—”

  Nope. Never look back. A mantra he was particularly fond of. With a shake of his head, he walked out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Tell me everything,” he heard Liza say.

  “You’d better sit down,” Em replied, which threw Jacob off his stride just a little.

  She’d gotten to him. No doubt, she’d gotten to him.

  7

  To: Sous-Chef Jacob Hill

  From: Concierge

  Maddie from Patrick’s just delivered a pot of coffee here for you, on request of the guest in room 1212. Odd, since as you know, we have our own excellent blend right here at Hush. Call when you come in. We’ll deliver it to you.

  JACOB STOOD IN THE LOBBY, in front of the concierge desk, holding the memo that had been taped to his locker.

  “I’d have brought the coffee to you,” Deidre said. One of four Hush concierges, Deidre was his personal favorite. Not only could she get any answer anyone ever needed, but with her bright pink hair, multiple piercings and pixie face, she looked damn good while doing it.

  The two of them had dated once.

  Correction. They’d slept together once.

  At the time, Deidre had felt the same way as Jacob, more than one night constituted something far too close to a relationship, and they’d happily gone their separate ways.

  Since then, Deidre had gone on to other things—meaning other men. But now she was looking at him again, with that once-familiar heat. “Busy tonight?” she asked, handing over Maddie’s large thermos.

  “I thought you were dating some purple-haired guy.” There was another note taped to the thermos.

  Deidre lifted a shoulder. “I’ve moved on.”

  He cut her a glance. “He got too serious, huh?”

  “Damn men.” She sighed. “They always do.”

  “Maybe you’re just irresistible.”

  She grinned. “Don’t you know it. So tonight…? There’s a new band playing at Erotique. Want to meet me there for a few drinks?”

  He was about to reply but he’d just scanned the note—from Em—and it sidetracked him.

  Jacob,

  I know, I know. Coffee as a forgiveness bribe—tacky. But please believe me, I never meant to keep my reason for being in NY a secret. It’s just that you’re quite different from anyone I’ve ever met, and, well, potent. Please let me make it up to you. However you’d like. There, I bet that got your attention. Come see me anytime, anywhere. I’ll be at Hush all day. Enjoy Maddie’s incomparable coffee, Jacob. Best, Em.

  “Yoo-hoo, earth to Chef.” Deidre waved a hand in his face. “Come in, Chef.”

  “Yeah.” Jacob crumpled up the note. Deidre lifted her small black trash can so he could toss the note in. But he held on to the paper, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, actually smelled like Em.

  When he looked back at Deidre, her smile slowly faded. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “That look on your face.” She stared at him in disbelief. “Who’s the gift sender?”

  “It’s just coffee.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not just a smile on your face.”

  He did his best to swipe off the grin.

  She slowly shook her head. “The remnants are still there.”

  He snatched up the thermos, shot her a long look and began to walk away.

  “You can run,” she called after him. “But you can’t hide, not from me. I have a responsibility to the rest of the staff to spread the correct gossip about you. Talk to me! Chef!”

  He lifted a hand and kept going.

  “Damn it,” he heard her mutter, and any other time he might have laughed, but he didn’t feel like laughing.

  He felt like…Hell, he had no idea what he felt like. Unused to the feeling, he walked through the lobby, past Erotique, thinking a drink would be a great thing—if it hadn’t been so early.

  He entered Amuse Bouche. Pru met him just outside the kitchen door, also unusually quiet and subdued as she balanced her briefcase and a box loaded with four bottles of different wines. “You’re early, too,” she said.

  He took the box from her. “What’s wrong with being early?”

  “It’s a rare phenomenon, that’s all. In fact, you’re usually late enough that someone has to page you out of some woman’s bed to get your ass in here.”

  “Well, good day to you, too.”

  Eyes unhappy, she shrugged.

  “What, don’t have the phone number of that woman you want me to call?” he teased when she failed to continue with her usual pestering. “No blind dates for me?”

  When she only sent him a halfhearted smile, he stopped. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  He looked at her closed, miserable face. “It’s something.”

  She shrugged, and walked ahead of him into the kitchen, setting her briefcase down on the black granite counter and taking the box from him.

  “Pru.”

  Another shrug. Woman-speak for Drag it out of me, please.

  He again took the box and set it next to her briefcase. “Where did you and Caya end up last night?”

  “Erotique. We met up with some of her friends from before.”

  Before was any time before Caya had come to live with Pru. Pru liked it when the world revolved around her.

  “Then we went down to Exhibit A,” she said.

  Jacob arched a brow, signaling his surprise that Pru would want to take Caya there, the place in Hush that was undoubtedly the most uninhibited, wild and adventurous. Possibly in all of Manhattan. “Did you tell her how you feel?”

  “About what, that I don’t like her wild friends? That I don’t like how much she goes out? That I especially don’t like the way she tries to lose her problems in casual sex?”

  “No,” Jacob said. “That you want her for yourself.”

  “Of course I didn’t tell her that. It’s going to ruin the friendship.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “This can’t be happening to me,” Pru said softly, pacing the room. “Love sucks, remember?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything about love.”

  “Oh, my God.” Pru stopped and covered her face. “Oh, my God. I love her.”

  Shaken now, Jacob stared at her. “Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

  “No, it’s true. I love her.” Stricken, Pru dropped her hands, then whirled on her heel.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To think. To obsess. To have my nails done before I chew them all to the quick.”

  “Pru—”

  “Don’t talk to me right now.”

  Suited him just fine. He didn’t like talking anyway. What the hell was wrong with him, trying to help?

  Or spending so much time thinking about Em when he had plenty of other women in his life to screw it up?

  When he could no longer hear Pru’s heels clicking angrily away, he leaned back against the counter and poured himself a mug of Maddie’s finest from the thermos. Sipping the brew, he reread Em’s note.

  Twice.

  When he caught himself reading it a fourth time, he crumpled it up again and tossed it in the trash. And reminded himself he never looked back, not ever.

  EM, LIZA AND ERIC were having an emergency meeting. Because she’d screwed up. The thought made her
wince, because it was true, she’d blown it. She’d lost herself in Jacob and had forgotten the goal. Now he felt used, and she couldn’t blame him.

  They were having the meeting by the pool, which was on the glass-covered roof. The area had scattered wrought-iron benches and freestanding fountains, and was warmed with tall gas-powered heaters designed like lanterns. All this was surrounded by lush greenery and wildly colorful blooms, despite the fact that in the real world, it was February in New York. The incredible beauty had a calming effect on Em’s frazzled nerves. The pool itself was Olympic-size, with a large hot tub next to it, and a fully stocked bar for their drinking pleasure.

  She lay on the cushiest white lounge chair she’d ever enjoyed, in a bathing suit. From here they were going to move their meeting into the spa. Liza had insisted, claiming they were far too busy back in Los Angeles for such foolishness, and that they should experience the full scope of what New York had to offer.

  Especially now that it looked as if they were all headed toward the unemployment line.

  Liza had booked them all for a variety of spa luxuries, a few of which Em had never even heard of. It seemed surreal, lying here, sunning as if they were lizards on a rock, being served their every wish by attentive, professional personnel.

  While guilt and regret fought for space in her belly.

  Liza had a drink in her hand, a pretty-colored something with an umbrella sticking out of it. Eric was facedown on his lounge and had a lovely attendant rubbing lotion onto his shoulders.

  Every time he moaned his pleasure, Liza took a long sip of her drink.

  Em leaned close to Liza. “You could just tell him he’s getting to you,” she whispered.

  “Are you kidding?” she whispered back, adjusting her bikini top so that her breasts were plumped up and practically falling out. “Never give a guy the upper hand. Besides, I’ve got him just where I want him.”

  Em eyed Eric, who was still very much enjoying his massage. “If you say so.”